#harrods beauty

[thesargasmicgoddess]

FOUND IT! 🎉🎉

I came. I saw. I hoed in the dressing room. I made the AP girls scramble to find something to fit my boobs🤣

I got hoe souvenirs. 😈😈

#agent provocateur #harrods #AP fan #my travels #england #london #beautiful lingerie

[silvianap]

Gwen, Emilia Clarke 💕 and many others, attended the opening of Schiaparelli at Harrods in London ✨

March 21, 2023 📆

(-> Twitter post)

#gwendoline christie #Gwen #schiaparelli #london #harrods #emilia clarke #naomi campbell #naomi harris #ruth wilson #first day of spring #Look what a beautiful flower she is 🌸

[aestheticjunkyard]

Tess McMillan by Nick Hudson for Harrods Magazine May 2019

#tess mcmillan #editorial #harrods #harrods magazine #makeup #beauty #nick hudson

[wgm-beautiful-world]

HARRODS

#harrods #london england #londres inglaterra #united kindom #reino unido #beautiful christmas tree #hermoso arbol de navidad #europe #europa

[thatblondeinfluence]

My favourite posts of 2022

My favourite posts of 2022

This year has been an amazing year filled with events, new opportunities, and some incredible experiences. I have achieved so much with this blog this year that I thought it was only right to reflect on some of the incredible things I’ve done and some of my personal favourite posts. I want to thank you all for the support this year and I can’t wait to see what this blog achieves in the new…

View On WordPress

#Backpacking #Beauty #christmas #Covent Garden #Dior #Fashion #Harrods #House Plants #Lifestyle #Paris #Pop-Up #Sandals #SPF #SpringSummer #Street Party #Summer Skin #Thailand #Vieve

[expatesque]

Note to self: never shop anywhere but Harrods again.

#i spent literally 6 hours in every department store in London #only to walk into harrods #it had exactly what i needed #it was beautiful the staff were fabulous it was soothing #never going anywhere else again #s narrates her life

[randomlifestylevlog]

#harrods #harrods advent calendar 2023 #harrods beauty advent calendar #harrods beauty advent calendar reveal #beauty advent calendars 2023 #Youtube

[charlotteswebbbbb]

Scan from Harrods Magazine - August 2022

#magazine #harrods magazine #beauty #photography

[harrodsglobals]

Best Private Label Cosmetics Manufacturers | Harrods Health Private Limited

#third party manufacturing companies #harrodsglobal #skincare #manufacturing #harrods #harrodshoteltoiletries #beauty

[megumimania]

london boy eren, jean and connie hcs!!

a/n: back on my connie bs again after @westcinny said he gave central cee vibes i’ve been obsessed . also snuck eren and jean here cuz why not 🤭 the format changed when it got to eren and jean it was 3am when i was writing this and i got lazy sorry 😭

warnings: slight connie x reader if you squint! v brief mention of weed

mini glossary:

bump- to get on public transport without paying

bait- someone who is well known.

leng- means beautiful or attractive

CONNIE

londoner!connie who is from south and is always repping it to the point where people are sick of him like bro we get it!😭

londoner!connie who is a trapstar/techfleece warrior even when it’s hot asf outside, he refuses to take if off

but when he does take it off trust you’ll see him in a white tee, grey shorts combo with a gold chain and af1s

londoner!connie who always bumping train despite him having an oyster card with money on it (tfl be charging extortionate prices for the train tho😔)

londoner!connie who has several tattoos, (with one dedicated to you ofc) also has a shit ton of piercings

londoner!connie who’s playlist mostly consists of drill music (both uk and ny cuz he doesn’t have a preference) but is always on the hunt for new genres of music

londoner!connie who has deffo taken his birthday pic at canary wharf once 😭 (its a rite of passage for us londoners i swearrrr)

londoner!connie who used to use his e scooter to get around everywhere cuz he failed his driving test a couple of times. but now he’s driving a benz so progress ig!

londoner!connie who rarely goes to motives but when he does its because you ask him to, he always stands to the side with his drink watching you dance with your friends, before you drag him in to catch a whine from you

londoner!connie who is more of a smoker than a drinker, trust that he always has a blunt behind his ear but sometimes you’ll catch him sipping a magnum

londoner!connie who is ALWAYS at the chicken and the chip shop its gotten to the point where bossman already inputs his order without saying anything

londoner!connie who pops up to your ig stories with either ‘😍😍’ or ‘you’re looking leng icl’

londoner!connie who despite his cold demeanour is loved by the little kids on the estate like hes always spoiling them buying them sweets, toys all that shit

londoner!connie who calls girls darlin’ or babe

EREN

he would be from north or northwest london

eren would be bait like he prob has half of london on snap

he knows connie from mutual friends

fellow tech fleece warrior like he owns so much in so many colours omg

eren refuses to drive, he rides his e scooter everywhere or he ubers most of the time

he got banned from tfl after trying to bump train and got caught by the ticket officer

he’s always at motives like every week no matter how far they are

has several girls in rotation, london boys are not loyal sorry 😔

you can catch him at westfields tryna chat to girls

he got rich from crypto so he’s always at the shard or the ivy or at hakkasan

but he does fraud on the side always doing refund methods sigh

eren’s ig stories consist of him smoking, him thirst trapping with drill in the back or him flexing with stacks of cash

has an insane watch and jewellery collection

JEAN

Jean would not be from london lmao

but if he did he would probably live in like wimbledon or some shit

Hes one of those guys who claim london but they live in surrey

He’s a corteiz/stussy warrior he’d never be caught dead in anything else

Always talking about uk undergroud rap but only knows knucks or sainte

He forces the slang so hard 😭 when he knows that he had never spoken like that in his life

Jean probably drives a range rover

Hes’s always at hyde park

Jean is a vape addict like ik he has a collection of vapes LOOOL

he always shops at harrods and waitrose none of that tesco, lidl stuff for him

#aot headcanons #jean kirstein #eren yeager headcanons #vina writes: aot #aot #connie x black reader #connie x reader #this was so hard to write idk why #i hope it makes sense guys #jean kirstein x reader #eren aot #snk anime #snk #eren jeager x y/n #eren yeager

[random-brushstrokes]

Leonard Campbell Taylor - Stephen and Virginia Courtauld with their pet ring-tailed lemur Mah-Jongg (1934)

Virginia Peirano and Stephen Courtauld met in the Alps. She was impulsive, creative and unconventional, with the title of marchioness from her first, unhappy marriage. Stephen, scion of the Courtauld textile empire and a keen mountaineer, was quiet and ‘unflappable’, according to a former colleague. He had received the Military Cross in 1918, fighting with the Artists’ Rifles. They were married in 1923 in Fiume (now Rijeka, Croatia). They were both in their early forties, and childless. On their return to England, they bought a ring-tailed lemur from the Harrods pet department. They christened him Mah-Jongg, although he was soon affectionately known simply as ‘Jongy’. With a large disposable income, the Courtaulds were at the centre of interwar London society, and were noted patrons of the arts. They also loved sailing. With the help of his brother-in-law, Stephen designed a motor yacht he named the Virginia. Over the winter of 1936, the couple sailed her from Cape Town to Egypt; other voyages saw them collecting orchids and making films around the South China Sea. Mah-Jongg, lounging in a specially designed deckchair, brought a certain tropical cachet to these trips. But he disgraced himself at a farewell lunch for the British Arctic Air Route Expedition on board the Virginia when he bit the expedition’s wireless operator, Percy Lemon, so viciously that he severed an artery. Lemon did not fully recover for three months. Looking for a new home close to London, the Courtaulds bought the site of Eltham Palace in 1933. Jongy’s spacious living quarters were on the first floor at the centre of the new house, where its two wings met. From a trapdoor in the floor, a bamboo ladder led to the Flower Room, adjacent to the entrance hall. His quarters were, like the rest of the house, centrally heated, providing a tropical climate. The cage’s décor of Madagascan rainforests, by Gertrude Whinfield, must have made Jongy feel quite at home. Exoticism of all kinds is reflected elsewhere in Eltham’s décor: the door reliefs in the dining room, for example, combine Classical Greek motifs with depictions of animals and birds from London Zoo. Mah-Jongg died in 1938, after 15 years spent sharing the Courtaulds’ glamorous lifestyle. Although he only lived at Eltham for four years, his enduring influence on one of the most beautiful 1930s buildings in England can still be seen there today. (source)

#Leonard Campbell Taylor #british art #portrait #animals in art #1930s

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 6 - Just Somebody That I Used to Know

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma, Modern AU

Summary: Exes cause some unexpected moments for both you and Benedict...

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: not much... swearing, propositioning for sex.

Word Count: 4.0k (longest chapter so far!)

Authors Note: Unbetaed. A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, Benedict runs into his ex-wife unexpectedly, and it throws him for a loop. Plus, Tom's sudden change in status causes a crisis of confidence for reader.

3 months later (15 months ago)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you elbow him in the ribs, maybe uncharitably, but he’s being mildly irritating. ”Let’s just stick to practical stuff,” you argue, seizing his laptop and bringing it in front of you to take over.

“Come on, who doesn’t need an 18th-century replica cannon?” Benedict argues jovially, hooking his chin onto your shoulder and fluttering his eyelids in an attempt to get his way.

“I would argue your brother and my best friend,” you state pointedly, looking at him askance with a raised eyebrow, even as you secretly enjoy his silliness.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” he hums, sitting back up straight, “they’d probably just find a way to actually weaponise it during one of their fights.”

It’s three months later, and, just as she predicted on the first night they met, Kate and Anthony are engaged. Returning from a trip to Lake Cuomo two weeks ago, she had an enormous rock on her left hand and a grin like a Cheshire Cat, not just because of the jewellery. She claimed she orgasmed for thirty minutes straight even before she got the ring. You’re still in a low-key disagreement with her about whether that’s even possible.

Today is an uncharacteristically sweltering June day, so you and Benedict are taking refuge in the cool air-conditioning at Battersea Power Station, down the road from the gallery he’s exhibiting in. You sit on a sofa with iced coffees trying to cobble together a gift registry—a task Kate and Anthony have lumbered you both with as matron of honour and best man.

“Who has their wedding registry at Harrods and Fortnum and Mason anyway?” you grouse.

“Family tradition,” he states airily. Sometimes you forget just how rich the Bridgertons are.

“You’re far too fucking posh,” you roll your eyes. “What’s wrong with John Lewis, like normal people?”

“Tell you what,” one of Benedict’s arms encircles your waist and lightly tickles, causing you to squirm, a distraction tactic to wrestle back control of his laptop with his other hand, “if we get married, the registry can be at John Lewis, and you can explain to my tearful mother why you want to break Bridgerton tradition.” 

You know it’s an offhand, meaningless comment said in jest, but the words ‘we get married’ seem to echo around your head, even as he cackles triumphantly to himself and clicks ‘add to registry’ on the ridiculous cannon. As revenge, you swipe his brownie and take a big bite which he attempts to snatch back. You are giggling and tussling, crumbs flying, when a sophisticated French voice cuts into your childish playfulness.

“Benoit!? Je pensais que c'était toi!”

Your giggles die out as you untangle from Benedict to observe a beautiful petite brunette woman with elfin features. She clings to another striking woman who can barely conceal her look of disdain.

You feel Benedict freeze up, his body suddenly tense. Defensive.

“Tessa,” he nods after what feels like an age of awkward silence.

Oh god. It’s her. This is his ex-wife. For some reason, here in London.

“It’s good to see you,” she switches to lightly accented English, her arm gripping the other ladies tighter.

“Likewise,” he says curtly, holding himself stiffly in a way that suggests anything but.

Tessa turns her doe-eyes to you, pointedly awaiting an introduction. It takes him a moment to realise it, and your chest suddenly aches in sympathy for the little-boy-lost expression you can see through the cracked veneer of civility.

“Oh right… Thérèse Durand, Tessa, meet y/n y/l/n,” he gestures flatly. “Y/n, this is Tessa… and Clarissa,” he sneers the other woman’s name, and instantly you know who she is—the one Tessa left him for.

You politely nod and make an awkward small wave gesture, unsure what else to do. Benedict appears to be in some form of shell shock; gently, you squeeze his arm until he blinks as if coming back online.

“Well… I can see you are busy,” Tessa nods at the laptop, “I will not delay you plus,” switching back to French for the last word, exchanging loaded looks with Clarissa.

With another awkward nod, they turn their heels and walk away.

‘She looked weird, didn’t she?’ he stutters as they retreat.

“I don’t know her, Ben,” you remind softly, “I just met her.” Mainly you are concerned by how utterly disconcerted he is by merely bumping into her.

“Trust me, she looked weird,” he affirms, still watching the space they occupied even as they turn a corner and disappear.

You just rub his arm in what you hope is a soothing pattern, unsure what to say.

“Ughhh. A continent of 745 million people… I was just bound to run into my ex-wife at some point, right?” his sarcastic humour flaring as he puts his head in his hands.

“You even tried to put a body of water between you,” you concur, attempting levity. “Seems bloody unlikely to happen… but then I’d say so is a replica cannon for a wedding present, but you insist on it,” you joke softly, bumping his shoulder lightly. 

When he tilts his head up and cracks a tiny smile, you breathe a silent sigh of relief.

—

“Although marrying you may suggest otherwise, I have not had a complete taste bypass,” Kate barbs at Anthony as they stand around a coffee table the next day.

They are moving in together pre-wedding, and they definitely have strong opinions about each other’s possessions. You and Benedict have arrived to assist them in unpacking their fancy Kensington mews, but your primary role may well be as referee.

Kate turns to you. “Y/n, please, do you like this thing?”

You purse your lips, not wanting to offend.

“Be honest,” Anthony adds, hands on his hips, looking at your expectantly.

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

“What's wrong with it?” Anthony asks.

“Honey,” Kate loops her arms around his neck, “it’s so awful, I can’t even begin to tell you what’s wrong with it.”

Anthony rolls his eyes, but you can tell he secretly enjoys how she nuzzles his neck, and he pulls her into his arms. “Brother, what do you think?”

Benedict is staring out of the window; he doesn't even turn around, just mumbles. “It’s fine.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, concerned about his moroseness but say nothing.

“Look, I think it will be fine in your home office,” Kate offers conciliatory. “It will go perfectly with that ugly drinks hutch thing,” she suggests, wanting to sound helpful.

“Wait, wait….,” Anthony withdraws from their embrace. “You don't like my home bar??” he throws his hands up in a what-the-hell gesture. 

Kate goes to answer but is interrupted by Benedict turning around to speak. “You know, we started like this—little disagreements about things. We thought it was so cute. Well, want my advice? Put your initials on your shit now, so you know whose is whose before it all gets jumbled together.”

“Ben …” you murmur a warning, seeing his irritation flaring. He ignores you.

“Cos someday, believe me, you will go twenty rounds on who gets this coffee table. This stupid, ugly, the-80s-called-and-they-want-their-glass-monstrosity-back will cost you five times as much as you paid for it in legal fees from the firm of I-don’t-even-want-this-but-I-want-you-to-have-it-even-less and Sons.” 

“I thought you liked it?” Ant counters, frowning deeply.

“I WAS BEING POLITE!!” Benedict exclaims loudly before storming out.

Kate and Anthony gape at the doorway, shocked at the completely uncharacteristic outburst.

“He… he just bumped into Tessa,” you offer quietly as if to explain, then with a nod, go to seek him out.

“I want you to know something,” you hear Kate say as you leave, pulling Anthony into her arms and placing a kiss on his cheek. “I will always hate that fucking ugly eyesore you claim is furniture.”

You find Ben outside lingering on the pavement, kicking a loose stone into the gutter. Looking to all intents and purposes like he needs a cigarette to calm down.

The minute he sees you, he holds up a hand, an admission of fault. “I know, I know.”

“Ben…. you’re going to have to find a way not to express every feeling you have the moment you have them,” you point out, aiming for delicacy. 

This morning he berated a kid in Costa for getting his tea order wrong, which is unlike him. You know that the only reason can be bumping into Tessa and all the residual anger and hurt about it bubbling to the surface.

“I just bumped into my ex fucking wife. So yeah, excuse me if I try to warn my brother what a shitshow their life could become,” he grumbles, confirming your suspicions. 

“There are times and places for these things… and when they are just moving in together might not have been the time to bring up divorce,” you try to point out gently.

“Oh really? Well, next time you’re giving a lecture on being a fucking droid, R2, let me know, and I’ll be sure to sign up,” he snarks.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!?” you demand, hands on hips indignantly, your own anger flaring at his cutting remark.

“It means nothing bothers you. I never see you get upset about Tom. I never see you get upset about anything at all; in fact,” he derides. “Don’t you care your longest relationship ended? Don't you experience any sense of loss?!”

“I feel things; I just choose to deal with my break up privately, like a grown-up,” you volley back, aiming to wound as much as he did.

“Please,” he rolls his eyes witheringly. “Sleeping with a bunch of idiots doesn't mean you have dealt with your breakup; it just means you’re avoiding it.”

“Better than not fucking anyone, you coward,” you shoot back, hurt he would bring up your recent, mildly slutty behaviour.

For a few moments, it's just a nettled staring match; you are not willing to give an inch. 

“Besides, even if we know relationships are more than likely going to fuck up, you don't wish it on your friends or family, right? You want to believe that it will work for them. I mean, I don’t fully get those two as a couple, but fuck they are so happy, Ben,” you gesture at their windows. “I want to believe it will work for them. I really do. And even that it will work for us again one day. That we will find our people.”

You see all the wind fall out of his sails, deflating before your eyes. 

“Fuck, you’re right,” he sighs, “I'm so sorry,” he pulls you into a hug. ”I never want to fight with you,” he avows, his breath warm on your temple.

“I'm sorry too,” you admit into his jaw. “I didn't mean the coward thing,” you mumble, feeling guilty but enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

“No, but you’re right,” he concedes. “I need to get back out there properly. God, Tessa just really threw me for a fucking loop yesterday, and I didn't sleep at all. I’m taking it out on all the wrong people today.” 

His honest confession feels like the Ben you know and, yes, love. You band your arms around him tighter and stay quiet for a few beats, knowing all is forgiven.

Just as you break apart, Anthony bursts through the front door hauling the coffee table with considerable effort.

“Don't say a fucking word,” he grouses.

—

“Could you come over?” you snuffle as the call connects. 

It’s a month after Kate and Anthony moved in together, and you know they are out celebrating tonight, so you don't want to bother her.

“What’s wrong?” Benedict’s cadence changes as he realises you sound off. It appears he’s moving to a quieter spot, the loud background noise of wherever he is fading slightly.

“He’s getting married!” You wail, gesturing wildly so the wine almost slops out of the bottle you are swigging from.

“Who is?” You can hear his frown, even down the phone.

“Tom!” You exclaim over a hiccup as if irritated he can’t read your mind.

“I’ll be right there,” the reassuring promise in his sincere tone makes you clasp your chest. Good old handsome, sweet, reliable Ben. What a great friend. 

Half an hour later, you answer the door with a tissue in hand, uncaring that you likely look a state—your hair half up in a messy bun and swamped by an oversized hoodie, concealing your pyjama shorts and vest. 

You collapse into Benedict’s arms when he shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Thank you. For coming. Why are you so smartly dressed?” you hiccup into his fancy shirt.

“I was uhh on a date,” he admits reticently as you break apart.

“You left a date!?”

“Yep. I just said my best friend is having a crisis, and I had to go. It’s the truth,” he shrugs.

“Aw, I’m your best friend,” you pout with quivering eyes, which makes him laugh.

“You look like that silly emoji. And, of course, you are,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing. “I mean, I didn't tell her that my best friend is a woman—probably not a first date revelation,” he points out, slinging an arm around your shoulders and manoeuvring you towards your sofa.

“Oh god, first date?! Shit, I'm sorry. Go, go back to her!” You attempt to shoo him away, but he pulls you tighter under his arm and rolls his eyes as he surveys the mess that is currently your living room—so very out of character. 

“You really did spiral, didn't you?” he chuckles, picking his way through the scattering of empty crisp packets and Cadbury wrappers to place you back on the sofa.

“She is supposed to be his rebound fling; she's not supposed to be ‘The One’,” you bawl, pointing at your laptop screen, still open to Tom’s wedding invitation.

Benedict takes the laptop and sighs, exiting the email window and smiling to himself as he sees your wallpaper - it's you and him in the novelty photobooth from last year's New Year party, heads together and grinning inanely. He closes the lid and twists to look at you, realising you have indeed not dealt with the heartbreak of your split with Tom at all over the last few months. You were just in denial about it all up until now. Knowing he has to tread carefully, he touches your shoulder.

“You broke it off because you wanted different things, remember?” he soothes. “Do you suddenly want kids?”

“No,” you pull a disgusted face.

“Then this is for the best,” he posits, brushing the hair from your cheek caught in your tear tracts.

“I’m difficult,” you lament, wallowing in a touch of maudlin self-pity now you have an audience.

“Challenging,” he amends with a crooked smile.

“I’m too closed-off and particular,” you throw out.

“You know what you want and refuse to compromise,” he argues, rubbing a thumb over your cheek in a comforting motion.

You look up from your self-indulgent tears and see his handsome face defending your worst qualities as positives, and you have never wanted another human more in your life. Perhaps the bottle of wine isn't helping, but right now, all you want - emotionally, physically, sexually - is the man before you.

“Fuck me, Benedict,” you murmur.

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, you've got yourself in a pickle,” he opines, bemused. And you wonder if he's being deliberately obtuse.

“No…” you clarify, placing your hand over the one curled around your face. “Fuck me. Please,” you stare into his eyes intently, making your request clear.

A thousand reactions ripple across his face, mostly surprise and confusion, but you also see how his pupils dilate, making your heart race. 

“I don't think that’s a good idea,” he stumbles as his gaze flits to your mouth.

“That's not a no,” you point out, boldly swinging into his lap, straddling him, as you see him wrestling with so many thoughts.

“We are best friends,” he whispers, sounding almost afraid.

“And as my best friend, I am asking you to take me to bed and fuck me,” you state plainly, sliding your thighs wider until your core rocks over the seam of his jeans, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

“You've had too much to drink.” He sounds like he's trying to clutch at straws, but you don't miss how his hand is gripping your hip now, fingers warm through the cotton of your pyjama shorts.

“Enough to be emboldened, not enough to be unaware of what I'm doing,” you supply, attempting to alleviate any fear he may have of taking advantage. “You would simply be helping a friend in need, please.”

With your cards now all on the table, you see he is frozen, the conflict writ large on his face and part of your heart cracks. Oh god, maybe he doesn't want this, and he has no idea how to let an upset, vulnerable friend down gently.

“Fuck…” you mutter and drop your forehead onto his shoulder. “I never stopped to consider you may not want to fuck me anymore. I’m such an idiot. That was 11 years ago….”

The hand on your hip flexes.

“That's not the problem,” he growls, and your head shoots up to see the vein in his temple pulsing. 

“Then what is?” you whisper, your limbic system alive with the idea he finds you attractive.

“You have just found out your ex is getting married, you drank a bottle of wine, and now you are propositioning me. I’m worried a large part of you will hate me tomorrow if I say yes,” he confesses, sounding almost vulnerable. “I’d prefer to keep you as a friend than fuck you and have you resent me for it.”

“But you want to?” you whisper, craving the affirmation to your fragile ego.

“Like you wouldn't believe,” he barely murmurs it. “But please get off me.”

You see the sincerity in his eyes and back down, feeling so many things in your tipsy heart—guilt you backed him into a corner, sad he turned you down, happy he respects you enough to do so. 

Believing it is the grown-up thing to release him from this messed-up evening, you climb out of his lap and head towards your front door. The shame and embarrassment are starting to creep in; your need to hide and deny what you did ramping up.

“You are a better friend than me,” you acknowledge as he trails behind you. “And I apologise. Thank you. I guess I just needed confirmation that I'm desirable to someone.” you mumble, looking at the floor.

“Didn't you just have a date last week?” he points out as you both hover in the hallway.

“Yeah, but that's different….” 

“How?”

“It's not someone who truly knows me,” you sigh, finally looking up at him again. His eyes are soft with understanding. He's so beautiful you almost want to cry.

“I need you to know something…” his voice even, but there's something awkward in the way he stares at the wall over your shoulder as he speaks, “....you are a beautiful, sexy woman. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I just….” He trails off, struggling for the right words.

“I understand,” you nod conciliatory. “I’m going to be mortified when I sober up,” you admit sheepishly, and you see his shoulders slump. 

“I can’t leave you, not like this. I’d be a bad friend.” He takes a deep breath and steps aside into your kitchen. “Come on,” he coaxes when you just stand there staring at him. “Let’s get you a cup of tea and sobered up.”

You then watch as he potters around your kitchen making you toast and tea at 9 pm on a rainy Thursday evening. It’s such a wonderful, giving thing to do that you can only stand there and watch, mildly dumbstruck. It’s only when the inviting aroma hits your nose that you realise you haven’t even eaten anything except crisps and chocolate since yesterday. 

He leads you to the sofa and then hands you a steaming hot mug of tea just how you like it and a plate with two perfectly toasted slices of bread slathered in butter. You tackle them greedily, murmuring your thank yous as he takes a seat in your armchair, a respectable distance, and queues up something brainless for you to enjoy.

You don’t talk as the next two hours unfold, him giving you space but also his presence so you don’t spiral into thoughts of how your rash moment may have ruined your friendship. Wordlessly telling you he is here as a friend and everything will be okay, despite the awkwardness. Bringing you another round of tea and toast, making himself some this time too. Even handing you paracetamol from your bathroom cabinet to pre-empt the muzzy head you can feel approaching. It's like he can intuit your needs before you can, making your heart clench even harder.

“I’m mostly sober now,” you confess quietly as an episode of the show you’re watching ends. “And I’ll be okay, honestly. Thank you for dropping your plans and coming to check on me. And I’m truly sorry for what I did. Propositioning you. I hope you can forgive me.” 

“Let's consider it even,” he smiles mildly. “For the car ride from St Andrews?” he prompts when you look confused.

“Okay,” you giggle, heaving a huge sigh of relief, knowing somehow all is forgiven.

“Now, if you are truly okay, I shall get out of your hair,” he offers, slapping his legs before rocking to his feet.

“I'm okay,” you confirm quietly, a little pang in your chest that is not wanting to be alone but not saying it. Instead, you also stand up and drift again towards your front door to show him out. You want to ask him to stay but know it's a selfish request.

“Thank you, bestie,” you overenunciate and throw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a bear hug.

“You are welcome, bestie,” he chuckles into your hair.

His body is warm and feels wonderful pressed against yours, and you linger, just indulging in the feeling of being held, squeezing your arms a little tighter, burying your face into his neck and huffing his delicious aftershave. You know you are pushing the boundary of what is acceptable for a hug between friends, but he's not fighting you off.

You pull back a little to look into his eyes. “Thank you, Ben, for everything,” more sincere now, sotto voce. 

“You’ll be okay,” he assures, smoothing down your hair with tender strokes. “Dorset was just a blip on your radar. There is someone much better out there for you. Don't let him be the reason you doubt yourself. He is not worth your tears.”

It's a beautiful, supportive speech, and on instinct, you push up to give him a quick peck on the lips as a thank you. Just like at New Year's, his lips are warm and plush beneath yours as you press into them. Except this time, he freezes, and instantly, you realise your mistake.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmur as you fall back to your flat feet, realising that was a foolish move after what transpired earlier. 

Something feels charged, and you sense a change in him, in his breathing.

“Again.” It's almost a snarl, and you worry you have annoyed him.

“Yes, Im sorry again,” you confirm meekly.

“No,” his eyes pop open, blazing, and his voice has taken on a different tone, almost foreign. “Again.” You merely frown until he pitches forward, his breath harsh on your lips. “Kiss me again.”

“But….” you begin to protest, even as you do as he asks, heart in your throat. Your lips meet, and he kisses you back this time—ferociously.

And a firework explodes in your chest. 

It's as if you have never been kissed before, your skin tingling all over with instant exhilaration. As your lips slide together in an almost desperate dance, his hands grab your face, tilting your head to the left. Then he is opening his mouth….

Oh fucking hell.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #it had to be you fic

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Absolutely LOVE your Roy Kent fic! Could you do a fic with Roy or Jamie where the reader is really self conscious about their body? Like they are worried they are too big to be with someone that’s a footballer. Thanks!!!

Dress You Up

Roy Kent x Reader

0.8k words

Warnings: Language, feeling self-conscious, flirting and allusions to smutty things

Oh my gosh, how did this get lost in my ask box?? I'm so sorry 😓 I hope it came out good ❤️

You stared at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that, trying to find any angle that you didn’t hate. When you and Keeley had found this dress at Harrod’s, she’d gushed about how hot you looked in it, how Roy was going to lose his mind. And you’d believed her, deciding that the charity gala was worth the splurge, especially considering the credit card you were using was Roy’s, at his insistence.

But now, even with your hair and makeup done, you felt… ridiculous. Instead of seeing the goddess Keeley had insisted you were in the fitting room, all you could see was every extra kilo, every place where the dress clung to you, and not in the way you’d hoped.

Your mind wandered to the guest list Roy had mentioned during dinner last week. The whole team, of course. Lots of rich old men, ready to open their fat pocketbooks for Rebecca’s fundraiser. And models. Actresses. The kind of women Roy Kent usually went for.

With your brain swimming with images of women whose bodies looked photoshopped, women you’d seen Roy with in magazines before the two of you began seeing each other, you grabbed your mobile, losing every ounce of excitement you’d about this night. In no time at all, a growling voice answered.

“Hey, you almost ready?”

The lump in your throat growing, you closed your eyes. “Actually, I’m not feeling well.” Not a complete lie. “You, er, should go on your own, Roy.”

There was a long pause on his end. “Well, this is fucking awkward then.”

“What is?”

Your doorbell rang. “I’m on your fucking porch,” Roy chuckled. “Can I at least say hello? Haven’t seen you all day. Fuckin’ miss you.”

The tenderness in his voice softened your resolve. “Just a quick moment, alright?” Your heels clicked against the tile of your front hall as you walked to your front door. “Don’t want you to catch whatever I’ve come down with.”

Roy expected to see you in sweats or pyjamas, with your hair in a sloppy bun, face probably tired. What he absolutely was not expecting was you in a beautiful dress that hugged every single one of those curves he loved. His eyes took their sweet time trailing up your figure until they landed on your face.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he hissed, thick eyebrows raised.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I know, I look-”

“Fucking hot,” he finished for you. “Like, if we don’t get in the car right now, that dress is going to be in the fucking shrubs.” He reached out and took your hand. “How the fuck are you not feeling well and looking like that? You got some flu that makes you sexy as hell?”

Heat flooded every inch of your skin. “You think I look… good?”

Roy’s eyebrows scrunched, as if your question was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Fucking course I do. Might have to leave the gala early so I can come back and make you feel better.” He tugged you close to himself. “Unless you’re coming with me. In which case, I know some dark corners at the venue where we could get into some trouble.”

Unable to help yourself, you brought your hands up to fiddle with the lapels of his suit jacket. “You sure you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Another ridiculous question, according to Roy’s facial expression. “Why the fuck would I ever be embarrassed to be seen with you? If anything, I’m scared Jamie Tartt’ll try to steal you from me.”

“I mean…” You shifted awkwardly in Roy’s arms. “There’s lots of models and shit there, right? Gorgeous, skinny women-”

“Women I’m not interested in,” Roy cut you off. “Women I wouldn’t give a second glance to. Especially with you in the fucking room.” He kissed your forehead tenderly. “Won’t be able to keep my eyes off of you. And my fucking hands will be just as dangerous.”

You nudged Roy’s nose with yours, the knots in your tummy starting to unravel. “You sure?”

He let out a soft chuckle before pressing his lips to yours briefly. “Very fucking sure. Now come on, put me out of my fucking misery. Say you’re coming to the ball with me.”

In his eyes you could see so much adoration, love, tenderness, and more than a little lust. It was enough to make you stand up straight and tighten your grip on him.

“You know some dark corners huh?” you teased.

A smile broke out across his bearded face. “Plenty,” he assured you, his hands wandering a bit. “I’d love to show ‘em to you.”

“Fine,” you conceded. “Come in while I grab my purse?”

To your surprise, Roy shook his head. “If I come in there, we are not making it to the gala on time. We’d probably barely make it to your bedroom.”

A wicked smile spread across your face as you tugged his tie, pulling him inside with you. “We can be a bit late, can’t we?”

“If you insist.”

#request ❤️ #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction

[lulublack90]

Prompt - Jail

@jegulus-microfic December 13 Word count 831

Regulus walked into the police station to bail out his boyfriend, his idiot brother and his idiot brother's boyfriend out of jail.

The police officer behind the desk showed him where they were being held. Regulus could hear the snorts and barely contained laughter from the other members of staff in the office. 

“They’re very lucky that they aren’t being charged.” The officer told him as they walked down the pale green corridor. “Not for lack of trying, I might add.” Evidently, this officer enjoyed hearing himself speak. “But while around £50,000 worth of damage was done, technically they didn’t physically do it.” 

“They’re free to go then?” Regulus cut him off. Bored of listening to the endless drone. 

“Yes. They need to fill out some paperwork before they leave though.” The officer replied curtly. 

“Would it be possible for me to talk to them before you release them?” Regulus decided to play on the officer's obvious contempt for the three young men. “I feel like they could do to sweat it out a bit longer.” 

“We don’t normally, but I’m sure we can make an exception.” They reached the end of the corridor and the officer swiped his I.D. card to let them through. 

“Ask Evans over there when you’re ready to let them out. I’ll be at the front desk with the paperwork.” The officer pointed at the young guard with flaming red hair sitting behind a small desk next to the cells. 

“Thank you, officer, er,” Regulus glanced at the police officer's name badge. “Snape. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Snape said before calling over to Evans, “Mr Black wants a word with the Harrods three before you let them out.” Then stormed off back to deal with the next member of the public.

Evans gave him a huge smile before letting him pass to the cell where the Harrods three resided. 

“REGULUS!!! You came!” Sirius threw himself at the bars, reaching through them and trying to grab at his brother.

“What did you do?” Regulus glared, making sure Sirius couldn’t reach him. 

“Don’t blame me,” Sirius cried, outraged. He pointed at James. “He started it.” Regulus turned his gaze to his boyfriend. James audibly gulped. 

“There was only one at first.” He said, jaw trembling as he recounted the story. “It was cute and funny. But then there was a whole herd of them. And well, we panicked. We ran into the nearest store. It just happened to be Harrods. But they all followed me in there. How were we supposed to know they would cause so much damage?” James hung his head. Regulus still did not understand what had happened. He looked over at the only one who hadn’t yet spoken. 

Remus sighed and sat up from the bench he’d been reclining on. 

“Deer.” He said as a way of explanation. 

“Expand,” Regulus told him. Remus smirked. 

“One single deer came up to James, and he patted it and fed it some of the Chelsea bun he was eating.” Regulus nodded. 

“Makes sense so far. What happened next?” 

“Well, that one disappeared and came back with about 50 of its friends. James panicked and threw the rest of his bun at them, but they wouldn’t leave him alone. So we ran for it, and they just ran after him. We dove into Harrods, but so did they and then they trashed it. We only got away from them because we locked ourselves in the changing room. Then the police came and brought us here.” Remus revealed the rest of their story, doing a terrible job of hiding his love for the chaos they’d created.

“Only you could have something like this happen to them. Damn Disney Princess.” Regulus sighed heavily, chastising his boyfriend. “You’ll all be glad to know that they can’t actually charge you with anything. You are free to go.” 

“Reggie, you absolute beauty!” Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, bounced up to the cell bars again, trying to get to his brother. 

Regulus got Evans to open the door for them and led the way back to the front desk to fill out their paperwork for them, with the help of Remus. 

James was keeping his distance from Regulus, putting Sirius between them both. 

Finally free of the police station, Sirius was back to his usual self.     

“Look on the bright side, guys,” Sirius said, throwing his arms around Remus and James’s shoulders. “We are officially badasses.”

Regulus went and extracted James from Sirius’s side. Giving him no option but to look at him. 

Regulus, upon seeing that James was suffering from his guilt for doing something he thought had been a kindness, that turned into a farce. Took pity on him. 

He brushed his lips against James's ear. 

“Quite sexy having a jailbird for a boyfriend, you know.” He said wickedly before striding towards the car park leaving James and Sirius with their jaws dangling open and Remus snickering behind him.      

#December 13 #jegulus #jegulus microfic #james x regulus #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin #sirius black #jail #snape

[cha-melodius]

oh man, okay, so, firstprince, Harrod's food hall

(In which I take Henry's canonical skill at recommending cheese to its logical extreme. This got longer than I intended because I kept waxing rhapsodical about cheese [only half joking]. I hope it lives up to your wildest dreams!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Will You Brie Mine?

(firstprince, 5.8k, T; read it below or on AO3)

“Ah, Alex,” he says with a soft, fond smile curving his lips and crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, like he’s pleased to see him.

Alex pointedly ignores the way that something in his stomach swoops.

“We have a new Manchego in this week that I think you’ll love,” Henry continues.

Right. Henry’s pleased to see him because Alex is his best customer. Alex assumes so, anyway. Surely no one else buys this much cheese on a weekly basis.

He hadn’t meant to start this little routine. June had been telling him since he moved to London that he had to go to Harrods and visit the food hall, so he’d gone just to be able to shut her up about it. And sure, it’d been reasonably impressive and he’d gotten some tasty stuff out of the trip, but he probably wouldn’t have been back if he hadn’t wandered by the cheese counter and caught sight of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind it. Alex hadn’t really spent much time contemplating his sexuality until he was suddenly confronted with floppy golden hair, ridiculously full lips, the finest cheekbones he’s ever seen, and broad shoulders only emphasized by the contrast of the green apron tied snugly around his narrow waist.

(It had still taken him several weeks of visits to the cheese counter before he realized why he was so drawn there, and a few more to come to terms with the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss the man behind it.)

Unfortunately, he’d been caught staring and had to play it off like he was particularly interested in cheese. He likes cheese, don’t get him wrong, but he never really thought too hard about it. Now he’s in pretty much every week to see Henry and has learned more about cheddar and brie and gruyere than he ever wanted to know. His fridge is always full. He brings cheese plates to pretty much every gathering he’s invited to. It’s kind of becoming a problem.

He hasn’t stopped visiting, though.

Today, as Henry tells him all about the Manchego, Alex tries his best to listen and not fixate on the mole next to the corner of Henry’s mouth or the way his shoulders strain the seams of his white uniform shirt. It’s not a particularly easy task for him, in all honesty.

“Would you care for a sample?” Henry asks, as if Alex has ever said no to him.

“I’d love one,” Alex tells him instead of saying I’d like to sample you.

The Manchego is quite good. Alex buys a chunk and takes it home, along with a baguette and a bottle of wine that Henry recommended to go along with it, then stands in front of his refrigerator and contemplates how absurdly pathetic he is.

Maybe he should make fondue for dinner.

~~~~~

“I don’t get why you don’t just ask him out?” Nora says as they weave their way through the various food hall areas. They’ve already purchased several pastries and a pile of chocolates, though Alex wouldn’t let them visit the wine shop until they’d seen Henry.

If Alex had his druthers they wouldn’t be here at all, but Nora is visiting for a job interview and pretty much demanded that Alex take her to see ‘the hot cheesemonger’ that he’s been talking constantly about for the last six months. (He hasn’t. She’s grossly exaggerating.)

“He’s in the service industry, Nora,” Alex argues. “Being hit on by customers is the worst. You get put on the spot and you have to smile and act all polite while you’re trapped because you’re at your job? I’m not going to do that to him.”

She pops a chocolate truffle into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Mm. You could casually ask when his shift ends and bump into him.”

Alex shoots an exasperated look her way. “That’s not better.”

“Oh, but accumulating the world’s finest collection of cheese in your one-bedroom apartment just so you can see him is a completely reasonable course of action.”

That, he doesn’t deign to dignify with an answer. Anyway, they’re nearing the cheese counter, which means they’re definitely done discussing this. He spots Henry immediately, looking unfairly adorable in his little green hat as he helps an elderly lady pick out some munster, and browses the display cases behind the counter as they wait. The fact that the other employee at the cheese counter doesn’t even bother trying to help him probably says something.

Eventually Henry finishes and turns toward them, though his smile falters slightly when he sees Nora. Weird. Probably Alex is just imagining things, because a moment later it’s back to normal.

“Hullo Alex,” he says, and Alex’s stomach does that swoopy thing at his name on Henry’s tongue, same as it does every week. “You’re early this week.”

Alex ignores the pointed look that he can feel Nora giving him. “Nora is visiting and wanted the ‘whole experience’,” he explains, gesturing with a sideways nod of his head toward her. “We’ve already hit the bakery and chocolate shop. Saved the best for last.”

Henry’s smile widens, and he ducks his head slightly before he looks back up. “Not actually last, though.”

“I mean, obviously Eric over at the wine shop is the best.”

“Of course,” Henry says solemnly. “Good to know where I stand.”

“You know me, always here to put you in your place,” Alex returns. Next to him, Nora loudly clears her throat and gives him a pointed look, and he has to bite back the too-revealing grinning on his face. “Right. Nora, this is Henry. Henry, Nora.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes Alex nervous. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nora.”

Henry looks bemused by this information, his eyebrows arcing skyward as he glances over at Alex. “Really?”

“Ignore her,” Alex tells him.

“I’ve heard a lot about your cheese, then,” she revises, eyes sparkling with pure mischief.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Alex says. He can feel his fucking cheeks getting hot and prays it’s not noticeable. “Whatcha got this week?”

“Ah, a new one arrived that I think you’ll get a kick out of. Tête de Moine.”

Alex furrows his brow. “Tête…”

“… de Moine,” Henry repeats. “It means ‘monk’s head’.”

“Of course it does.”

Henry huffs a soft laugh. “It’s from Switzerland. This one’s aged four months, and it’s very full-bodied, with an earthy nuttiness to it. The real trick is in the serving though.”

“Oh?” Alex prompts. He has to admit, he could fucking listen to Henry talk about cheese all day. It’s not really the cheese, though; it’s how passionate and animated he gets, sometimes downright rapturous. It’s the spark in his eye and the confidence with which he speaks and the sheer depth of his knowledge.

Behind the counter, Henry holds up a finger to indicate they should wait a moment, then sets about retrieving a small wheel of cheese already set up on some kind of circular contraption. There’s a post sticking through the center of the wheel with a small blade radiating out toward the edge, which has a handle that Henry grabs. In one slow, smooth motion, he spins the blade around the top of the cheese wheel, and a delicate little rosette of cheese appears. Then he pinches it carefully by the base and holds it out over the counter toward Alex. It looks for all the world like he’s handing Alex a flower.

“Like this, it melts in your mouth,” Henry says, and Alex barely manages to avoid swallowing his tongue.

Their fingers brush as Alex takes the little cheese rosette from him, and Alex feels a little frisson of electricity even though Henry’s wearing gloves. Henry watches him expectantly as he sticks the whole damned thing in his mouth—because what else is he going to do with it?—and oh. Wow, that’s really something. It does melt in his mouth and it’s a little funky but not too much?

Henry’s cheese recommendations truly never miss.

“That’s fucking amazing,” he says once he’s finally swallowed it. “And it has to be served like that?”

“The only way to eat it,” Henry confirms. Then he turns his smile toward Nora. “Would you like to try it?”

“Sure,” Nora agrees, and as soon as Henry’s attention is diverted toward the cheese again she kicks Alex in the shin.

He gives her a what the fuck was that? look, and she in turn replies with some significant eyebrow raising and head tilting toward Henry, like he’s supposed to know what she’s on about. A moment later, she schools her expression back to normal as Henry reaches out to hand her a rosette, which she polishes off in about two seconds flat.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she says in her typical understated manner.

Whatever. Alex knows an exceptional cheese when he eats it. “So how do you sell it, then?” he asks Henry.

“Well, you can buy the whole wheel and the girolle to go with it, but I assume you’re not particularly interested in acquiring specialized cheese equipment,” Henry says. Honestly, Alex would probably let himself be talked into it, if Henry was doing the talking. This is definitely becoming a problem. “But I can shave you a collection of rosettes if you think you’ll eat them within a day or two.”

“A bouquet, then?” Alex jokes.

Henry’s cheeks go slightly pink, and Nora kicks him again. Alex ignores her.

“I suppose so,” Henry says.

“All right then. And the wine?”

“A full-bodied variety, like Bordeaux or Côtes du Rhône.”

“Perfect,” Alex says. “I have one at home, so I won’t even need to visit Eric.”

Henry’s lips quirk upward. “A shame to miss out on the best stop.”

“Did I, though?” Alex asks, scrunching up the side of his face in fake thoughtfulness.

It makes Henry laugh, which is pretty much everything.

He can’t even be annoyed that Henry pretty much ignores him to ask Nora about her visit as he works on the rosettes. Then he catches himself thinking that it’s kind of sweet that Henry’s making sure she’s included, before realizing that it’s his job to chat with the customers.

Jesus, Alex is hopeless.

“He’s nice,” Nora says once they’re done and have walked far enough away. Alex wasn’t looking for her approval, especially since probably nothing will ever happen, but still. He trusts her judgment. It feels good. “Also he totally wants to dick you down.”

“Nora,” Alex hisses, eyes going wide as he looks around to make sure no one heard her.

“And you obviously want him to, so.”

“How could you possibly know that after ten minutes?”

“Besides the fact that the entire time it looked like you wanted to eat him instead of the cheese?”

Alex huffs in frustration. “I meant about what he wants.”

Nora stops walking in the middle of an aisle between counters, and Alex drags her to the side so they don’t get mowed down. “Alejandro. Babe,” she says flatly. “The look on his face as he watched you eat that cheese was nothing short of pornographic.”

“You’re imagining things,” Alex scoffs.

“He. Wants. You,” she repeats firmly. “Ask him out. He’s not gonna say no, I promise. Ninety-six percent.”

Alex bites his lip. “Ninety-six?”

~~~~~

Nora’s numbers should be reassuring. Instead, Alex is freaking out. Ok, maybe he wants Henry, and maybe Henry wants him, but he’s never dated a dude before. He’s done precisely nothing with his bisexual revelation, partly because he’s always swamped with work and partly because he doesn’t want to go hook up with random guys. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed a guy before; he flat out made out with Liam back in high school, and it was nice but he still managed to come out of it thinking he was straight, so. That doesn’t inspire much confidence. The idea of kissing another man now makes him weirdly nervous because if he does and if the same thing happens—worse, if he kisses Henry and it doesn’t do anything for him—then he loses all of this. He likes what they have now. He still doesn’t know a lot of people in London outside his office. As ridiculous as it sounds, the cheese counter feels like a lifeline he can’t afford to let go of.

It’s probably better if they just stay friends. Acquaintances. Whatever the fuck they are.

Anyway, Nora is probably wrong. She couldn’t possibly be that certain after watching them interact for ten minutes. He holds firm to this (misguided) belief right up until he makes his weekly trip to Harrods and Henry positively lights up when he sees Alex approaching.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Henry says, not even bothering with a greeting as he immediately goes into the case to fetch something.

“Hello to you too,” Alex says with a lopsided smile.

“Yes, hello,” Henry huffs, “now come here and close your eyes.”

What.

Henry’s not even looking at him, he’s too focused on the cheese in front of him, and Alex has no fucking clue what to make of any of it.

“Uh, Henry? Is this some kind of new thing y’all are doing?”

Henry smirks at him. “Only for mouthy Americans. Are you coming?”

Jesus’ tits. Alex looks around, but not a single person in the bustling food hall is paying attention to them. Henry appears to be by himself at the counter today. With a deep breath, Alex braces himself for whatever’s about to happen and steps up closer to the counter.

“Now close your eyes and open your mouth,” Henry tells him, which is more or less what he expected, but still. Those words, in that voice. It’s a fucking lot.

“Henry, what—”

“Come on, after all this time, don’t you trust me?” Henry teases.

Well, when he puts it like that.

So Alex closes his eyes and opens his mouth, and a moment later a small morsel of cheese is deposited on his tongue—via toothpick, he realizes as he closes his lips around it, and not Henry’s fingers. Thank god, honestly. Fortunately, the flavor of the cheese completely distracts him from how insane all of this is, because wow. It’s hard and a bit crumbly, salty with a tang and kick of smoky, fruity spice that builds on his tongue. There are peppers involved, chiles like he has rarely tasted since he moved here, and the flavor of them just about punch him in the gut with the flavor of home.

He opens his eyes and finds Henry watching him raptly. That’s a lot, too.

“It’s unbelievable,” Alex says honestly. “What is it?”

“Queso de cincho enchilado,” Henry answers, with passable Spanish pronunciation. “Imported specially from Guerrero.”

“What?”

“I did some research and found out one of our suppliers had a contact in Mexico,” Henry explains. “And, well, you’re always complaining how it’s nearly impossible to get Mexican ingredients here, so I thought you might like it.”

Alex’s throat feels like it’s closing up around the emotion that’s trying to choke him. “You ordered it… for me?”

“If any of our customers deserve a special order, it’s you, Alex,” Henry says, a small, soft smile curving his lips.

“Oh,” Alex says.

His brain is spinning endlessly, like a gear never quite able to make contact with the next one. He needs something to make sense of this. He needs… a list.

1. Henry went out of his way to order something for him. 2. Henry saw a chance to bring Alex something that means something to him and made it happen. 3. Henry chose not just any Mexican cheese, but something special, something he wouldn’t get anywhere else. 4. Henry cares enough to know him.

Fuck.

With a truly heroic effort, he manages to paste on a smile, shoving the rest of it deep down where he will decidedly not inspect it later. “Well, thank you. It’s amazing. Honestly, I don’t know what to say.”

“That has to be a first,” Henry quips, and Alex protests with a ‘Hey!’ and a laugh, because the only other alternative is having a breakdown in Harrods about cheese.

They fall into something like their regular banter after that, and all of this is fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

~~~~~

The queso de cincho enchilado haunts him. Quite literally, since he bought a large quantity of it and every time he looks in his fridge he’s reminded of what Henry did for him. It feels like a lot. It feels like maybe too much.

Maybe Alex needs to take a step back before he goes spinning out of control and fucks something up, badly.

For the first time in a while, he doesn’t visit the food halls that week, or the next. He’s got a crazy case on his plate at work and can’t afford to spare the time anyway. It’s fine. Henry probably won’t even notice he’s not there.

Then, a couple of days after the day he usually visits, he’s in the middle of a long, brutal run through Hyde Park to try to clear his head when he nearly collides with someone in a wool peacoat and a Burberry scarf.

“Jesus fuck, asshole, watch where you’re—”

Alex cuts off because, when he finally regains his balance and turns toward the person, he looks up into a pair of startlingly familiar blue eyes.

“Alex?”

“Henry,” Alex exhales. He suddenly feels much more out of breath than he did a second ago. 

Alex would try to claim that he almost doesn’t recognize him out of his uniform, but that would be a lie. He’d know that face anywhere. Those eyes, those cheekbones, those lips curled into a small, pleased smile. He’s bundled up against the February chill, but he still looks effortlessly put together in a way that makes Alex starkly aware of how sweaty and bedraggled he is in comparison. Alex is so overwhelmed by seeing Henry here, outside the safe realm of the Harrods food hall, that he almost completely misses the beagle sitting, well-behaved, at his feet.

“You’ve got a dog,” he manages. He feels strangely unmoored by the situation.

“That I do,” Henry says with a little chuckle. “This is David.”

Alex doesn’t mean to make a face, but it happens. “Weird name for a dog.”

“It’s after Bowie,” Henry tells him.

“Oh, well. That’s cool.”

A beat of silence stretches between them. Fuck, this is awkward. It’s never this awkward when there’s a case full of cheese between them. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your run,” Henry ventures.

“No, it’s fine. You just surprised me.”

“So you usually berate innocent pedestrians while you’re running, then?”

His teasing surprises a laugh out of Alex. “Fuck off with ‘innocent’, you stepped into my path.”

“Well, yes,” Henry admits. “And I do apologize for that. David was very excited about a squirrel.”

“Oh, blame it on your dog, real smooth,” Alex says, grinning, and Henry laughs. Alex makes a motion toward the beagle. “Can I pet him?”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that,” Henry says.

Alex squats down in front of David and holds out his hand for him to sniff, which David does and then proceeds to immediately tuck his nose under Alex’s hand and nudge it up onto his head. He’s utterly adorable, and Alex spends several minutes scratching behind his ears and feeling some of the remaining tension bleed out of him—dogs really are magic—before Henry speaks again.

“We missed you at the cheese counter the past couple of weeks,” he says lightly. We, like any of the other employees there care about whether Alex comes in. He’s probably just that weird guy with the cheese addiction to them. He can appreciate why Henry would put it that way, though.

With one last pat, Alex stands again and pushes a hand back through his hair before remembering how gross it is. “Yeah, I got slammed at work,” he says. It’s mostly not a lie. He doesn’t actually need to explain why he wasn’t there, except he feels oddly compelled to. He quirks his lips into a sardonic smile. “Sorry, I know I’m probably a substantial part of your monthly sales quota.”

Henry laughs softly. “You are,” he confirms, a teasing glint in his eye. Then his expression goes more serious. “But that’s not why I was concerned.”

Oh. Henry was worried about him.

“Well, I’ll be back this week,” Alex promises.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry says, and when he smiles his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I should let you go before you catch a chill out here.”

Alex doesn’t want Henry to let him go, although yes, he’s getting really fucking cold in his thin exercise gear now that he’s not moving anymore. He thinks maybe if he wasn’t completely disgusting and exhausted he might ask Henry if he wanted to go get a cup of coffee. Or tea, whatever (he knows, in fact, that Henry’s a tea drinker). It’d be low stakes, friends get coffee all the time, and he could feel things out a bit more. Asking if he wants to get together some other time feels more intentional. Like a date.

They’re not at the shop. Alex could just ask.

“Yeah, ok,” he says instead. “It was good to bump into you, man.”

For some reason Henry’s smile seems to go a little tight at the edges. “It was. I’ll see you soon, Alex.”

~~~~~

It doesn’t occur to Alex until he’s standing in the shower later that he could have asked for Henry’s number at the very least. Now who knows when he might run into Henry again. Maybe he could just haunt Hyde Park during the same time frame and hope that he runs into Henry walking David again. Maybe he should just take Nora’s suggestion to ask him when his shift ends and meet him then.

He’s still contemplating his options when he visits the cheese counter that week. It’s oddly busy for some reason, and he waits a while for Henry to be free. Unfortunately that also means that they’re not going to have as much time as usual to chat, which is quite honestly the whole reason he visits. He’s just wondering if maybe he should come back later when Henry appears in front of him, clearly tired and worn around the edges but no less beautiful for it.

“You guys are hoppin’ today,” Alex says, glancing around.

“Yes, well, lots of romantic cheese plates to sell, I suppose,” Henry sighs.

Alex frowns in confusion. “What?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow?”

“Right, yeah, I totally remembered that,” Alex says, shaking his head as he bites his lip. “Shows you where my head’s been.”

“I hope for your girlfriend’s sake that that’s not actually true,” Henry points out, and now Alex is confused again.

“Girlfriend?”

Henry frowns back at him. “Nora?”

Alex chokes out a surprised laugh. “Oh, Nora’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we dated a while ago, but now we’re just friends. She’s dating my sister actually.” Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t ask. Anyway, that’s why she’s trying to move to London—her and my sister, actually—because June feels a need to watch over me or something, I guess. It’ll be good to have them here, though.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Henry says. “Sorry for assuming, you just talk about her quite a bit.”

“God, don’t tell her that,” Alex groans.

“So no girlfriend, then?” Henry asks casually, or it would be casual if he weren’t avoiding Alex’s eyes and fidgeting with some kind of cheese.

Alex swallows and licks his lips. “Nope. No boyfriend either. I’ll just be hanging out with James Bond tomorrow, I guess.”

“What?” Henry asks sharply, for reasons that are beyond Alex.

“I dunno, Bond movie marathon sounds like a good way to spend Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Right, of course,” Henry says with a tight smile. No explanation for the weird reaction is forthcoming, so Alex shrugs it off. “Our special cheese this week might be kind of moot, then.”

“Why’s that?” Alex asks.

Henry turns away to grab something, and when he turns back he’s holding up what looks like some kind of heart-shaped brie. “Neufchatel,” he says. “From Normandy.”

“The heart shape seems a little gimmicky for the Harrods cheese counter.”

“Ah, but it’s not actually a gimmick. The shape goes back to the Hundred Years’ War,” Henry explains. “The English occupied the region, and the story goes that the French dairy maids who fell for their occupiers gave them as gifts to the Englishmen.”

“Ok, now it makes sense,” Alex laughs. “Of course y’all would sell something that commemorates the people you tried to conquer falling in love with you.”

“I didn’t say it was an admirable story,” Henry protests, flushing a delightful pink. “It is a wonderful cheese, though.”

“Well?” Alex prompts. “You gonna give me a sample of your occupier cheese?”

Henry laughs and shakes his head, but he cuts Alex off a chunk and passes it over the counter. It actually is delicious, ridiculously creamy and velvety on his tongue. It’s also the kind of cheese that’s probably not something you’re going to eat alone, since he doubts it will keep well after it’s been cut into, but…

Alex has to admit, he’s kind into the symbolism of Henry giving him this particular cheese. Not that Henry is giving it to him, Alex is buying it, not to mention that Henry has probably sold a hundred of these heart-shaped cheeses today, but still.

“Yeah, ok, it’s really good,” Alex says, like it pains him to admit it. “I’ll take one.”

Henry blinks at him. “Really?”

“For my date with James Bond.”

A kind of weird look passes over Henry’s face again, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come. “All right,” he says. “I’ll get that wrapped up for you.”

Alex watches Henry package up the cheese, which means he absolutely sees Henry pick up a pen and write something on the inside of the butcher paper that he wraps around it. But Henry also gives no hint as to what it could be as he hands over the cheese and rings Alex up at the cash register. As expected, he doesn’t really have time to linger; there are more customers waiting to be served, so Alex takes his purchase and heads home, the small package burning a hole in his pocket. He can’t very well unwrap a soft cheese in the middle of the London streets or on the tube or something, so whatever Henry wrote remains a mystery until he gets into his kitchen and nearly tears the paper off.

It’s a phone number. Henry’s phone number.

Alex checks the time, and by now it’s after the food hall counters close. With slightly shaky hands, he types the number into his phone and presses call.

“Hullo?” a familiar voice answers, slightly distorted over the line.

“Henry,” Alex breathes. He just saw Henry less than an hour ago, and yet still the sound of his voice sets every one of Alex’s nerve endings on fire. “Um. It’s Alex.”

“Ah. You got my message, I see.”

“I did,” he confirms. A little puff of disbelieving laughter escapes him. “Leaving your number on the inside of a cheese wrapper? Really?”

Henry laughs softly. “I suppose I got tired of waiting for you to ask me for it.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me for mine?”

“If I did, it would have to be for some kind of special order purposes,” Henry tells him. “And I couldn’t use it for personal reasons. It’s against company policy.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to.”

“Wanted to what?”

“Ask you. For your number. Or… on a date.”

He hears Henry exhale, and then, with immense fondness, he says, “You certainly took your time.”

“Fuck off,” Alex says automatically. Something thrums under his skin at Henry’s answering laughter. “I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he confesses.

“You didn’t,” Henry says softly. “You won’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“After six months, I think I know you at least that well, Alex.”

And yeah, Henry does.

“So, uh,” Alex starts, not even knowing where he’s headed with this until the words are coming out of his mouth, “Turns out I’ve got this really romantic cheese that probably shouldn’t be eaten alone.”

“I can confirm it’s better shared.” He can hear the smile in Henry’s voice.

“So you could come over, if you wanted. To my place. Tomorrow? I’ll make dinner. Not just cheese.”

“I’d love to,” Henry says, his voice full of something that fills Alex to the brim with warmth. “I can bring wine?”

Shoot. In his rush to get home, Alex forgot about the wine. So really—

“That’s perfect, baby.”

Alex feels the noise Henry makes over the phone in his toes.

~~~~~

Whatever possessed him to make their first date on Valentine’s Day at his own apartment and to volunteer to cook dinner, Alex is sure he doesn’t know. They could have gone for coffee. They could have gone out to dinner a few days later, or something reasonable that didn’t involve Alex fretting over last minute menu plans and laboring over the stove for hours. He considers something from his Mexican wheelhouse before deciding that sourcing ingredients at this point would be nearly impossible, and in the end he takes inspiration from the Neufchatel and goes French. Coq au vin, potatoes, haricot vert, crusty bread that he picks up from the French bakery down the road. For dessert, though, he dips into his precious supply of dried chiles that his abuela sent him and whips up the batter for a spiced chocolate lava cake that will bake while they’re eating dinner.

So, you know. Nothing fancy.

Henry shows up right on time with a bottle of wine to pair with the cheese and another for dinner, which he’d chosen after wheedling tonight’s menu out of Alex via text earlier. He’s utterly stunning in a blue sweater that looks ridiculously soft, and Alex desperately wants to touch it. Or maybe he just desperately wants to touch Henry.

He doesn’t, though. He greets Henry at the door, and they do the slightly awkward dance of knowing this is a date and knowing each other pretty well, but not knowing exactly what they are to each other yet. Are they on hugging terms? Kissing? Alex sidesteps the question entirely by taking the wine from Henry’s hands and leading the way back into the kitchen. 

It’s blissfully not awkward after that, though. The conversation flows easily as Alex finishes up the last bits of dinner. They drink wine and eat heart-shaped cheese and Henry drops light touches on Alex’s hip or his arm or his lower back as they maneuver around each other in the small space. He’s suitably impressed by Alex’s cooking and isn’t shy with his praise, which warms Alex to the core.

It is, all in all, probably the best date Alex has ever had, and by the time they retire to the living room couch after dessert he feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin with anticipation. Something of it must show on his face, because Henry gives him a gentle smile that is clearly intended to put him at ease as he relaxes into the couch, his body angled toward Alex and his wine glass dangling loosely from his fingers.

“I’ve had a lovely time tonight,” he says, nudging a knee up against Alex’s.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Alex replies honestly, putting all of it into the smile he returns. “Me too.” Then he pauses, steeling himself, and Henry must sense it because he just waits. “There’s something you should know,” he says eventually. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Dated a guy.”

Henry’s expression is maddeningly neutral. “But you want to.”

“I didn’t do all of this because I don’t want to kiss you,” Alex retorts. That, at least, brings a pleased smile to Henry’s face. “I just… this isn’t some experiment for me, but some things are going to be a little novel.”

Henry nods and sets his wine glass on the coffee table, then shifts on the couch closer to Alex. He slides one hand onto Alex’s thigh just above the knee, and the other he reaches up to the side of Alex’s face, gently cupping his jaw. “We can take things as slow as you like.”

Alex leans in, inhales the scent of Henry’s cologne. “And if I’m not interested in taking it slow?”

“I can’t say I’d complain,” Henry answers with a soft puff of laughter.

His eyes drop to Henry’s full, wine-stained lips, to the mole at the corner of his mouth, to the other one at the edge of his jaw. They both sway closer, until the tips of their noses nearly brush.

“I have another confession,” Alex says abruptly, and Henry lets out a fondly exasperated sigh as he pulls back again and looks at him expectantly. “I’m not really that into cheese. Or, I wasn’t, I guess. I only really visited to see you.”

“I know,” Henry says, biting back a smile.

“What do you mean, you know?!” Alex demands.

“I mean, it was clear that you didn’t actually know much about cheese, and though you seemed interested, you never really struck me as a connoisseur,” Henry tells him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “That’s why I always hoped, even when I thought you had a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes. “So you wanted me…?”

“Christ, from the first time you stopped at my counter, Alex. Now will you please kiss me—”

Alex leans in and presses his lips to Henry’s, and it’s everything he could have imagined and more. Henry’s lips are plush and soft under his, and he tastes like red wine and chocolate and chiles, and Alex already never wants it to end. Kissing Henry is new in the best way—from the way Henry’s end-of-the-day stubble scratches against his own, to the strong hands in his hair, to the sensation of the hard planes of Henry’s waist under his palms—but at the same time there’s something achingly familiar about it. Like coming home.

The more they kiss, the more he realizes that there’s something else that’s different about this kiss: it feels, unmistakably, like the last first kiss he’s ever going to have.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[thatblondeinfluence]

Christian Dior launches the 'Fabulous World of Dior' pop-up at Harrods Knightsbridge

Christian Dior launches the ‘Fabulous World of Dior’ pop-up at Harrods Knightsbridge

On the 10th November, Christian Dior took over Harrods and launched ‘The Fabulous World of Dior’ pop-up with a brand new take on the Dior Cafe. The immersive pop -up and gingerbread themed cafe offers Dior customers an exclusive opportunity to purchase Dior gingerbread in the shape of the Book Tote, Iconic Lady Dior bag and the 30 Montaigne plaque to take home. As well as offering deserts,…

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#Beauty #Christian Dior #Christmas Pop-Up #Dior #Dior Atelier #Dior Cafe #Fashion #Fragrance #gingerbread #Harrods #Knightsbridge #Lifestyle #Makeup #Pop-Up #Pop-up Shop